Favours
by whytejigsaw
Summary: From a prompt by Nocturnias: Molly needs a favour from Sherlock. This one's unbetaed. One-shot.


Favours

From a prompt by Nocturnias.

"…and so, in conclusion, I would like you to do it," finished Molly.

Sherlock looked at her closely before speaking.

"What makes you think I would enjoy doing that?"

"Ah, well, if you were listening before…"

"Yes, yes, I heard all 7 excruciating minutes of your reasoning, but have disregarded them all."

"Come on, Sherlock, we're friends, friends help each other out."

"What happened to that old neighbour of yours?"

"Well, she broke her hip."

"Shame. Don't they have places for this kind of thing?"

Molly exhaled a loud "tuh".

"Fine, I didn't want to bring this up but you leave me no alternative. But I did help you out significantly last year."

"Hand it over."

And that was how Sherlock Holmes, and a reluctant, surprised John Watson, became temporary guardians of a tabby cat called Toby for a weekend. Or at least, Sherlock did.

"Molly's left all kinds of instructions," said John.

"You mean you're not going to help me then?"

"She didn't ask me. She asked you. And I have a mild allergy to cats."

"You are lying. I can always tell."

"I might be. But the fact remains: you'll have to go and stay at Molly's."

"I don't have keys to her place," Sherlock pouted.

John scoffed. "When has that ever stopped you? Pack a bag. Get your arse over there. Take the cat with you." He finished with a dramatic sneeze and gestured "you see."

Sherlock was many things but he wasn't about to cause actual physical discomfort to his flatmate. He huffed into his room, toting Toby's cat box to collect a few things. When he emerged, John was sitting on the couch.

"Look, it can't be that hard. Just put down some food for him once a day and let him sit on the couch. Cats are very self-sufficient." John was obviously feeling guilty for turfing Sherlock out.

"This one doesn't like me. He used to pounce on me when I was sleeping or in my mind palace all the time."

"When you stayed at Molly's after the…incident," asked John. He'd started calling Sherlock's faked death "the incident" soon after the resurrection because it was difficult to recall. Sherlock hadn't elucidated on his time spent with Molly and John had always been curious.

"How long where you there?" he continued.

"Initially, a couple of weeks while I recovered from my injuries and then I dropped in from time to time while I was…" Sherlock trailed off, not wanting to talk about his time hunting Moriarty's disciples any more than necessary.

"I've never been in Molly's place."

"She has a spare bedroom."

"That's not what I was asking."

"Of course it was. I'm just surprised it took you this many months to get around to it."

"So nothing happened at all?"

"Well, depends on what you mean by nothing."

"You never touched her then?"

"I wouldn't go that far," said Sherlock with a cheeky smirk.

"You devil. What happened?"

"She had to perform first aid a number of times. It necessitated touching."

John threw a cushion at his flatmate.

"That's not what I meant at all. And you know it!"

"I'm going now, John, before you have to fake more sneezes."

"Oh very convenient. We're not finished with this conversation."

"If you prefer, Toby and I can stay a while…"

"I'll ring you later."

"I won't answer."

"Ah yes, because you'll be too busy snooping around Molly's house and sniffing her clothes."

Sherlock made a very rude gesture at John as he tossed his coat on and picked up a bag, a cat and headed away.

Ok, so Sherlock had been lying when he said he had no key for Molly's. He hadn't kept one during his time away but she'd shown him her emergency key location. It was at Barts. Naturally, he'd made a copy.

He let himself into Molly's brightly coloured Ikea-furnished 2 bedroom flat. Toby recognised his surrounding and announced with a loud meow that he'd like to get out now. Sherlock acquiesced.

Molly's place was great. There was always food. It was clean and tidy. His bed was made up with fresh sheets – even though she didn't know he would be staying. It lacked only one thing: entertainment.

Normally this would not be an issue. Sherlock would just disappear into his mind palace and work on something. But that wouldn't work now. He was avoiding his mind palace because of the THING he did not want to think about. Being at Molly's did not help with ignoring the THING.

So watching crappy tv was the only option. He flipped on the box, stretched out on the coach and found some random afternoon show. Toby hopped up on his hip and settled in. Before long, he was asleep and did not hear his text message alert. If he had, he'd have known that Molly's plans were cancelled due to her friend's sudden illness. She was on her way back.

She'd had a long day of half a train journey out of London and then back again. Tired and cold didn't cover it.

If Molly thought it odd that Sherlock did not immediately jump at the chance to get rid of her pet, she didn't consider it thoroughly. Once she was home and rested, she'd drop over to Baker St to collect Toby.

"That's strange," she thought, as she slide her key into the Chubb lock to discover it was unlocked.

When she entered her flat, the television was on. Toby was perched on the back of the couch. He looked at her sleepily from one eye and then put his head down again. She immediately had some sense of what had happened.

A sleeping Sherlock lay on her couch. He was obviously settled in for the night. His shoes were off, and an overnight bag sat on the floor near him. She'd forgotten John's cat allergy.

She tickled the sole of his foot, causing him to jerk slightly in sleep.

"Wakey-wakey."

"I am not a child," he grunted. As he rubbed his eyes and leaned up on one elbow, he noticed her properly.

"Why are you back?" he asked.

"Oh, not so good at the deductions when we wake up, are we?" she replied.

He responded by hooking his foot around her leg and knocking her down on top of him.

"Ah, Sherlock, what are you doing?" she cried, as landed heavily on him.

"You look cold, so I thought you could do with a cuddle."

"How nice to find someone so obliging in my home unexpectedly."

"I hope you appreciate it."

She stared down at him.

"Appreciate you breaking in?"

Sherlock snuck his arms around her waist.

"If you would just move in to Baker St, I wouldn't have to."

"I told you! I'm not moving in with you and John in that bio-hazard. People will think we're in some bizarre threesome."

"That would upset the press," chuckled Sherlock.

"Never mind John! I only have room for one boyfriend."

"And how appropriate that you should – " Sherlock was cut off by Toby jumping down to investigate.

"I tell you that cat hates me."

"He just doesn't approve when you pet his human."

"I haven't even begun yet, but now that you've put the thought out there."

Sherlock flipped Molly over and she found herself underneath him.

"Oh hello," she said, her eyes smiling.

"I missed you."

"You didn't even notice I was gone!"

"I did. John made me come over here. And you know how boring your place is. Without you!" he added hastily.

"Hmm."

"Toby is perfectly well. I deserve a reward for being such a good cat-sitter."

"I'll get you some catnip."

"That is not what I had in mind."


End file.
